Traitor
by all over the streets
Summary: Voldemort wins and takes Hermione captive. Hermione and one of Voldemort's own are the only ones who can save Harry and Ron from certain death. Not Deathly Hollows compatible. DM/HG. WIP-HIATUS.
1. Au Contraire

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Except for the most amazing iPod Classic in the world with the best mix of music ever.

**One. Au Contraire.**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, once the home of hundreds of students, was now crawling with just as many (if not more) Death Eaters. Students had long since been eradicated from the premises and Lord Voldemort had taken up residence in Albus Dumbledore's old office. The old Slytherin dormitory was now being used for it's initial design: a dungeon. It currently housed Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Voldemort didn't foresee Longbottom surviving for too much longer, but that Granger girl would certainly put up quite the fight before fizzling out; he liked that idea. Gryffindor Tower was off-limits. Voldemort despised the place when he went to school at Hogwarts - he always thought everyone who was in that House was a pompous git, and they would say the same of Slytherin - and he didn't want the tower to receive any use. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff's dormitory were used for Voldemort's Death Eater's bedrooms.

The Great Hall was still used as a dining room, although the long table that had once been used for the Hogwarts Faculty was now used for Voldemort and his most trusted advisors and minions. The four tables remained, each bearing the symbol of death that also marked each Death Eater's left arm. Almost every painting had been torn down and tossed into the forest, save those that adorned the walls of the dungeon. Those paintings had been removed from their home and given new places on the walls where people could respect them. The quidditch field was no longer used for fun. It was a training ground for Voldemort's minions. They honed their spells on mannequins and dueled one another as practice.

Overall, Lord Voldemort was very pleased with the work he had done so far. It had only been two months since the battle at Hogwarts had taken place, and the school was shaping up nicely to become his headquarters. The only disappointment he had with the way things had turned out after the battle was that Harry Potter remained alive. The boy had already figured out how to destroy Voldemort: the seven Horcruxes, one of which had already been destroyed inadvertently during Harry's second year of school, and a second that had been destroyed by Dumbledore before his death.

Now Harry was out looking for the rest of the Horcruxes with his friend, Ronald Weasley. Voldemort was confident they wouldn't find them, though. Not without the help of the mudblood. She was the brains of their operations, and without her they would be lost. It would take them years to find even one Horcrux without her, and Voldemort had people searching for Potter and Weasley day and night. Voldemort knew he would find them before they found the Horcruxes. It was impossible for it to be any different than that.

"Malfoy, come here," Voldemort ordered. The blond man stepped forward, bowing slightly before his master.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Go check on that Granger girl, the mudblood. See that she isn't starving to death. I need her to live long enough to get some information out of her."

"Yes, My Lord. I'll attend to it right away," Malfoy responded. He then turned on his heel and stalked lithely away. Voldemort always thought that the Malfoy family had been graceful. They all walked as though they were dancing, and before you knew it, they had reached the point they were walking towards. He had been startled more than once by a number of the Malfoys because of the grace in their gait.

The door slammed shut behind Malfoy and he began to make his way towards the cold dungeons a few floors below. His black cloak flowed behind him and his black knee-high boots didn't make a sound as he floated across the floor. These visits to Granger had become a daily thing for Malfoy, though some days Voldemort sent others to check on her. She was tortured daily, but had yet to divulge any information. Voldemort was patient though, and he felt that every day brought them closer to her breakdown. Malfoy had trouble believing that considering how stubborn the girl was. But he did as his master told him to, keeping Granger alive and healthy enough to withstand the torture.

As Malfoy trekked down to the dungeons, it became progressively colder. It was more comfortable for him. The dungeon was where he had spent most of his adolescent life growing up, and it was his second home. First being, of course, Malfoy Manor. The room he was living in now was part of the old Ravenclaw dorm and was kept much warmer than the rooms in the old Slytherin dorm. Coming down to see Granger every day was a welcome reprieve from the heat and the idiocy of other Death Eaters. Though Malfoy disliked Granger more than most could imagine, he had to admit that her intellect was a nice respite from some of the uneducated buffoons under Voldemort's command.

Malfoy finally reached the cells where Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger had been living. He quickly glanced at Longbottom in the front-most cell and cringed. The boy was skin and bones, malnourished and tortured to the point of death. Malfoy figured he would die the next time Voldemort decided to probe him for information. Longbottom had taken on the look of a crazed man, but Malfoy realized that it probably ran in the family since Longbottom's mum and dad had been tortured to insanity. Sniffing in disdain, Malfoy moved on the furthest cell from the dungeon entrance. He stopped at the cell door and looked in at the young woman sitting on the small cot she had been afforded.

Hermione Granger was undoubtedly a mess appearance-wise. Her hair was fluffier than it had ever been, her clothes were tattered and disgusting, and she was covered in dirt that barely disguised the bruises on her skin. But her eyes were as alert as ever. Those big brown eyes were just as full of knowledge as Malfoy had ever seen them. Being outside of the classroom setting around her had been eye-opening. She was not only book-smart, but she was also savvy in the world. She had yet to do something to elicit some kind of extra torture from Voldemort, something Malfoy had never seen happen before. Most prisoners that were taken by Voldemort received extra punishment because they said something to make him angry. Granger had never done that, proving her sanity and understanding of the situation she was in.

"Mudblood," Malfoy said. Hermione met his eyes with her own and smirked.

"Draco."

Malfoy curled his lip up as his name left her lips. She had taken to calling him 'Draco' when he refused to call her 'Granger.' It was her way of getting under his skin. And it worked.

Malfoy cleared his throat and waited for the echo from the sound to die down before he spoke again. "Have you been fed yet today?"

"I have."

"And what was it that you were fed?"

"The same thing I've been fed every single day for the past 57 days," Hermione replied. Malfoy smirked and nodded.

"Very well then."

"What has good old Voldemort got in store for me today?" she asked. He had foregone ordering her to call him Lord when he realized she wouldn't do it no matter how many times she was tortured, so he ignored the little jab he felt because of her disrespect.

"The same thing he's had in store for you for the past 57 days," Malfoy replied, mimicking her snide tone of voice.

"Ahhh, I see," Hermione said, leaning back against the cell wall. "Questions. Then pain. Then questions. Then more pain. Sounds like a walk in the park."

"Yeah, it's just another day at Hogwarts."

"Do you remember when that meant something entirely different than it does now?" Hermione chuckled. "Do you remember when that meant Double Potions with Snape? Where I would fight to get a better grade than you and still somehow manage not to when my work was at least as good as yours? But you were in Slytherin. And I was in Gryffindor. Snape hated people in Gryffindor. I had lost the battle before it started."

Malfoy looked down and stifled a smile as she continued, "But then we'd go to Transfiguration. Oh, Draco. I had you in that class. Remember the time we were supposed to turn a cup into a rat and Ron turned his into a hybrid? But I turned my cup into a rat. I sure did... You, on the other hand. Whew, I don't know what you turned yours into. Some kind of fur ball. Not even a living, breathing animal. Just a ball. Of fur. I was so tickled that day. I got a higher mark than you."

"For once in your life," Malfoy interjected. "Not like that ever happened again."

"Oh, fiddlesticks. We gave each other a good go for grades. But then Saturdays were quidditch days. Slytherin versus Gryffindor every year was the biggest game. Everyone always expected some foul play from Slytherin, but it was always a clean game. Always. But Harry always came out with the Snitch. Gryffindor always won. I never really got why we all thought that one game was such a big deal. We always won. But there was always that possibility that you would get the Snitch and ruin it all for us, Draco. That possibility always existed."

"Damn Potter," Malfoy murmured. This walk down Memory Lane was getting under Malfoy's skin. Making him think about things he shouldn't.

"You and he would have been good friends, you know."

"What? There is no way that I would be friends with Potter. He's worthless scum."

"He said the exact same about you, Draco."

"I've had enough of your blabbering, mudblood. I was here to see that you've been fed and now it's been thirty minutes. I could have spent that time on something useful. You waste time just like you waste space in the world with your filthy blood," Malfoy finally spat out, anxious to get away from her. Being in the presence of Hermione always made him think things he shouldn't - things that could get him killed should Voldemort ever learn that he was thinking them.

Malfoy stalked away, down the hall between the dungeon cells. It wasn't until he reached Longbottom's cell that he heard her call out one last thing.

"You know I'm right, Malfoy. You know it. Stop running from it. Stop _hiding_ from it. It's a fact."

It was the first time she had called him Malfoy in the past two months. Most people wouldn't have noticed it and ignored it. The fact that she hadn't used his given name showed how serious she was. When she called him Draco she was messing with his head, getting under his skin. The lapse in time since she had called him Malfoy only made her point sting all the more harshly.

_What if Potter and I had been friends? Would I be here right now? Would I be following this man who wants to cloak the world in a black veil? I don't think so. I would probably be out there with Potter and Weasley, working towards a greater good. Why did I choose this life?_ Malfoy thought as he made his way up towards the Great Hall once more. _I didn't choose this life, though. I had no choice in the matter. It was laid out before my birth. This is how my life was always destined to be, and obviously I'm on the winning side and that's all that matters. I'm helping the winner, which makes me a winner. There's no problem with being a winner._

Malfoy re-entered the Great Hall and made his way to Voldemort's side. After bowing slightly, he reported that Hermione had been fed and was ready to be questioned by him. Voldemort ordered her brought to him immediately and Malfoy stepped back behind Voldemort, supporting his master at all times. He pulled his black hood up over his head and lowered his face mask, as was required at each questioning. The person they were interrogating was not to know who surrounded them, save for Voldemort. The platinum blond hair that was the trademark of the Malfoy men was now covered, as were the aristocratic features of his face. But his deep grey eyes were not. Eyes that looked like the sky right before a big storm: roiling and rife with whatever emotion the owner of the eyes was feeling. Malfoy knew that if Hermione wanted to, she could find him in the crowd of Death Eaters that would be around her. She could find him just by looking at his eyes.

Hermione walked into the Great Hall, flanked closely by two Death Eaters, each holding one of her arms tightly with their wands pointed at her. She was brought to stand before Voldemort and quickly surrounded by Death Eaters with covered faces and cloaked bodies. Malfoy stood to Voldemort's right, waiting for the first question.

"Ahhh, so the mudblood lives. Intriguing that you've had the willpower to survive up to this point," Voldemort began, taunting her. She lifted her chin defiantly and looked him straight in his red eyes.

"Harry and Ron will find the Horcruxes and save me. I know they will. You need not worry about me living, because I'll be around for as long as it takes them to rid the world of your filth," Hermione spat back. Malfoy was surprised. This was the first time she had talked back like this to Voldemort and Malfoy wondered if he had been wrong to say that she was savvy in the workings of the world. But Voldemort merely laughed at her, his cackle sending echoes off the high rafters of the Great Hall.

"My dear, you seem so confident. But you're here, with me. And they are out there, running like dogs with their tails between their legs as my Death Eaters chase them. Do you really think they stand a chance against me now? I have your school, I've had your Headmaster killed, and I have you. I think I've won."

"What do I have to do with anything? Harry and Ron won't stop their search just for the chance to save me. They aren't that dumb."

Voldemort's face contorted into something resembling a smile. "Au contraire, my dear. They've already stopped said search and are on their way here."


	2. Trickery

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for the Mac that I use to write these stories.

**Two. Trickery.**

Thousands of miles away on the banks of the Seine River in France, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were in a rut. Not the figurative rut one thinks of when they hear the word rut, but a literal rut. It might even be called a trench, which wouldn't be entirely off-base since it was used as one during World War I. This was not unusual for the pair. In fact, it was quite normal now. Ever since the battle at Hogwarts, anyone who had supported Harry and his friends had become vigilantes. Voldemort's control of Hogwarts had inevitably led to complete control of the Ministry of Magic and, soon after, the entire wizard community in England. Harry had no doubt in his mind that Voldemort was going to attempt to extend his reach to cover all of Europe. And Harry didn't even want to think about the plans he had after that.

He and Ron had to stop the madman before he could gain that much power.

"Easier said than done," Harry mumbled to himself as a sort of answer to his thoughts. Ron looked over at him from his sleeping roll, puzzled at his friend's seemingly random statement. Harry shook his head for Ron not to ask anything and fell silent. The two boys - for they were boys as they were each barely eighteen-years-old - sat in the trench, quiet, for a few minutes before Ron finally voiced his thoughts as well.

"Harry, do you think this is a trap?" Ron asked. "I mean, it just doesn't add up. Last we heard, 'Mione was one of You-Know-Who's -"

"Voldemort," Harry interjected, annoyed at Ron's apparent fear at saying the name.

Ron sighed. "Voldemort's captives. How could she have escaped? And still being on the grounds at Hogwarts, but being safe? The place is crawling with Death Eaters. There's no way that she could find a place on those grounds that would be safe from one of Voldemort's goons. It just doesn't add up to me."

"Ron, she flooed us," Harry stated. "You saw her face in the coals. You heard her voice. Who else could that have been?"

"Polyjuice?" Ron asked, still not convinced. Doubt flickered in Harry's eyes as he realized the possible truth in Ron's words. "If we could do it as second years, then Voldemort can surely do it. Easily. She's at his command. He could have easily plucked a strand of her hair. Or he could have even gotten some spit. You know Hermione. She probably got offended when he was talking to her and her anger got the better of her. Bloody hell, God knows she's slapped and come close to spitting on me a fair share. She could have spat on him for all we know. She could have accidentally played right into his plans."

"Ron, she knew the password to Gryffindor Tower."

"So? Voldemort could have given her Veritaserum and asked her the password," Ron rationalized.

Harry shook his head, his messy black hair falling across his face. It was badly in need of a cut, brushing against his shoulders. He was beginning to look more and more like James. Behind his round spectacles was the one thing he shared with his mother Lily: the vibrant, green eyes that were always so trusting and so lively. He sat on his sleeping bag, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his sinewy arms around them. He examined his tattered pants and worn boots. Normally those boots would have been worn during quidditch games against the other Houses at Hogwarts. But they were sturdy enough for travel, and were used by both Harry and Ron for it.

"Ron, you love her," Harry choked out. "I love her, too. I don't know about you, but we need her to make it through this. Not just because she's smart, but because she's what holds us together. Without her, 'The Golden Trio' becomes 'The Bronze Duo.' She's the glue that holds us together." Harry looked up to lock eyes with Ron. "We have to take this chance, if only to reunite ourselves."

It was now Ron's turn to shake out his overgrown red hair and look at the ground. His mind was racing. Harry loved Hermione. Harry _loved_ Hermione. As more than a friend. This was a surprise to Ron, who had only ever thought that he was the one who harbored secret feelings for Hermione. Apparently not so secret, though, since Harry knew. But to know that he loved Hermione as well, in the same way as he did... Ron almost couldn't stomach that fact. It almost made him want to leave his friend. But the brotherhood that had been growing between them for the past six years had become solidified in the two months they had been separated from Hermione. No matter how mad Ron was, he couldn't turn his back on his brother.

Reluctantly, Ron looked up and met Harry's eyes once again. He nodded his assent.

"As sketchy as this all is, I agree with you. I love her, and I'd do anything for her. We aren't complete without her," Ron agreed. "But there's one more problem."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"How are we going to get there? We can't exactly apparate there. And we can't just floo ourselves into the castle or fly onto the grounds."

"Looks like we're walking there. Which means we need to rest up."

Ron nodded and scrambled into his sleeping bag, looking up at the stars that filled the sky above the trench and thinking about what Harry had said. He loved Hermione? How had Ron missed that? Did Hermione love Harry? Or did she love Ron? Or did she love neither of them? Mere feet from him, Harry's head was filled with the same thoughts.

0000

"You _what_?" Hermione screamed.

"You sleep quite soundly, my dear. Pulling a few strands of hair from that rat's nest on the top of your head was entirely too easy," Voldemort chuckled. After explaining his devious plot to the mudblood, he had been pleased to see the rage that entered her brown eyes and the way her entire body had tensed up. "Though I'm sure we've got quite some time before they arrive. I don't see any way for them to get here any other way than on foot. And last my men had seen of them, they were headed south, towards France and Spain. It could take them weeks to get here." The rage that overcame Hermione's face would have scared even the bravest man. Malfoy felt chills down his spine when he saw it. Voldemort didn't bat an eyelash at the show of emotion from the Gryffindor Princess. "That's plenty of time for me to extract the information that I want from you, you dirty little mudblood."

"Call me what you want. But Ron and Harry will not come. I don't care how clever you think you are, you nasty son of a bitch, but they won't fall for it," Hermione spat out. Malfoy's grey eyes widened at her use of profanity. He had never heard her speak like this, and it was surprising. Anger radiated off the small girl in waves, permeating the entire Great Hall in a matter of seconds. "They know not to trust things like _floo fires_ for information."

"Oh? You would like to think that, wouldn't you? They seemed quite eager to come "save you" when Draco finished speaking with them," Voldemort taunted, pushing every button he could. He had not chosen Malfoy because he would make Hermione angry; Malfoy had been chosen because of his superior knowledge. He was the most likely person to sound like Hermione. The fact that he was one of the people Hermione hated most had been a plus. Voldemort could see the effect this news had on Hermione, and he chuckled to himself as her anger tripled.

"Malfoy was the one who drank the potion?" Hermione exclaimed. She quickly scanned the Death Eaters around her, quickly locking eyes with Malfoy. Her normally warm eyes were cold when they narrowed into slits and Malfoy knew that she hated him more in that one moment than she ever had in her life. He held her glare, staring back with blank eyes to keep from betraying the sick feeling he had in his stomach. He had a feeling that his afternoon chats with her would become much more heated and less friendly after this. And for some reason, that fact depressed him. She was the closest thing he had to a "friend" in this wretched castle, and now that he had lost that he would be left with a group of idiots who could only do exactly as they were told. Any chance at intelligent conversation with someone other than Voldemort was now gone.

Eventually her glare broke him down and he looked at the ground dejectedly. He wanted to tell her that he had been forced to. That if he hadn't, Voldemort would have killed him. But she probably already knew that and just didn't care. It was understandable if that was the case. Why would she care about an explanation from Draco Malfoy, the boy who had spent six years tormenting her during school and had now moved on to the big leagues and was torturing her in her everyday life? She wouldn't. It was that simple. And there wasn't a soul in the world who could blame her for that.

"Draco." Malfoy jumped, surprised by the sound of his name. Voldemort glanced at him and nodded for him to step forward. "Take her back to the dungeons."

Malfoy nodded, stepping forward obediently to carry out the orders given to him. Hermione glared at him as he grabbed her by her upper arm and yanked her with him, leaving her two escorts standing with the rest of the Death Eaters who had been present with Voldemort. She continued to glare at him as they walked back to the dungeons. Malfoy was so occupied with the feeling of warmth her skin gave off that he forgot to take off his mask and hood. He even forgot to pretend not to notice her anger. Before he knew what he was doing, he had gone the opposite direction he was supposed to and had walked her to his quarters. He unlocked the door and pushed her inside. She shot him a confused glance as she took in her surroundings.

"Stay here, please. You needn't worry about anything, but I have to go talk to Voldemort about something. Just please stay here," Malfoy said, leaving her no room for argument. "Don't make me Stupefy you, Granger."

She huffed and crossed her arms, resuming her glaring but walking over to take a seat at his desk. He nodded as he backed out of the door, re-locking it and placing an extra charm on it to seal it for the next thirty minutes. There was no way Hermione was getting out of there. He turned on his heel and quickly walked back down to the Great Hall.

"My Lord," Malfoy said as he entered, bowing quickly. "I need to ask a favor of you."

"What is it?" Voldemort said, preoccupied with a supporter of Harry's that had been caught just outside the grounds of Hogwarts.

"I was wondering if I could have your leave to question Granger in my quarters."

"Why would you ever want to do something like that?" Voldemort asked, confused.

"I wouldn't. But I think I could get some information out of her. She tends to say things without thinking when she's in a rage like this."

"Very well. If I didn't have to deal with this leech, I would bring her back down here. But that suits me just fine. Report any findings to me when you finish."

"As you wish, My Lord."

Meanwhile, Hermione was calming herself to the best of her abilities in Draco's quarters. The room wasn't large, but it wasn't small, and it housed a queen size bed with silver and green linens. Hermione wasn't surprised by the color choice. What surprised her was the stack of letters on the small desk in the back corner of the room. All were addressed to him, from his mother. She knew that she really shouldn't snoop, but her curiosity got the better of her as she slid the top letter out of its envelope.

_Dearest Draco,_

_I'm doing well, thank you. Lucius, on the other hand, is deteriorating steadily. I don't know how much longer his lucid periods will appear. They're getting more and more sporadic as time wears on. His memory is failing even more than the last time you wrote us, and as you know that means he's practically catatonic. Pansy misses you terribly, though I don't see why. She's not even married to you yet, and if she really wanted to she could come visit you. I assume she likes to live the luxurious life that our family has afforded her by taking her in when her parents died two months ago. Her closet is practically overflowing with new robes and shoes. Really, son, if this marriage wasn't arranged, I would tell you to be rid of her faster than Snape was rid of Dumbledore. But I suppose I'll get used to her eventually..._

_How is Hogwarts? Has everything been going well? I know Lord Voldemort wants to be through with Harry Potter as soon as he can, but I don't see how he intends to find the boy. I haven't heard his name for many weeks, and I'm almost positive he won't be reappearing anytime soon. Though Lord Voldemort probably just wants to make sure._

_I hope to see your handsome face soon, my dear. And remember, though you may disagree with what you're doing, you're still on the side that won. The side that will live._

_Love Always,  
Mum _

Hermione carefully placed the letter back into the envelope, stunned at the contents. Obviously Lucius Malfoy was suffering from Alzheimer's Syndrome and quickly losing more and more memory. Malfoy and Pansy were engaged? That would explain why she was always hanging all over him during the school year. Hermione scrunched her nose at the thought of the children they would produce. Pug-faced blonds with a slim build and grey eyes. That just didn't seem attractive to Hermione. Now, if Malfoy and practically any other girl at Hogwarts were to procreate, the child would be stunning. Anyone but Pansy would make a beautiful baby with that man.

The most shocking part of all was that Malfoy didn't agree with what Voldemort was doing. Had she really misjudged Malfoy? All she had been able to go on was the front he put on when they had been in school, when he had come to see that she had been fed in the dungeons, and when she had been tortured in the Great Hall. He seemed to be quite at home with the other Death Eaters and Voldemort. He was more in his element than he had ever been when he was with them.

Why, then, had he brought her to his quarters? It didn't make sense that he would bring her here.

Hermione wandered to the armchair sitting in front of the small fireplace that Malfoy must have charmed to be there. She fell into the seat, making herself comfortable just as Malfoy burst back through the door to his quarters. He let out the breath he had been holding when he realized she was still there and hadn't killed herself with a pen or the like. She met his eyes and felt the anger rise to the surface once more. This man had ruined Harry and Ron's chance at destroying the Horcruxes. He had impersonated her and flooed her friends to come get her from Hogwarts' grounds. He had called them to their deaths.

Hermione's eyes slitted themselves once more and Malfoy felt his blood begin to run cold.


	3. Unlikely Savior

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for a senior ring with a rose sapphire.

**Three. Unlikely Savior.**

"You rotten bastard," Hermione seethed. She was past the point of hate that brought on screaming. A calm had washed over her, helping her thought process remain logical and keep her voice low. She filed the new information she had learned about Malfoy - it didn't seem to be right to call him that now, knowing what she knew about him - to ponder at a later time. Currently, she focused all her energy on staying in the moment.

"Listen, Granger," Malfoy started to say. "You really don't know anything about the situation. If you could let me explain -"

"Explain what?" Hermione snapped back. "You're exactly like Voldemort. No wonder you're his second-in-command. I'll bet he leaves his empire to you when he dies."

Malfoy had to give her that. Voldemort did plan on handing the power down to him, but that wouldn't be for quite some time. Voldemort was in perfect health. And Malfoy intended to make more changes in the system than Mandela had made in South Africa during the apartheid. Hermione had no way of knowing that, though, and he wanted so badly to explain it. But it was impossible to tell her right now. It was a liability. If he told her, who knew what she might say the next time Voldemort interrogated her and got her into a fit? She had a lot more control than many other people, but even that control could be shattered if hit correctly.

"Explain why I brought you here," Malfoy said calmly, doing his best not to betray the fear she had instilled into him when he had walked into the room. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue with typical impatience. He took a deep breath before he began. "I wanted to let you floo Potter and Weasley and warn them. They still have to come here, but it's a fair warning for them. And they can plan accordingly, knowing that they have a person on the inside to look out for them."

"That person being...?" Hermione asked, skeptical.

"Me."

Hermione scoffed. "You? And I'm supposed to believe this? I'm supposed to trust you after the last six years of torment?"

"Granger, you have to believe me. It's the only way you can be sure that your friends make it through this alive. And if you don't trust me, they won't make it anywhere close to this castle."

He could see Hermione's mind working overtime as her brown eyes stared at the ground. Her eyebrows knit together pensively and she ran a hand through her hair, mulling the situation over. There really was no other option she had. If she didn't take this opportunity, her friends would surely die. But if she did, she wasn't sure that she could trust that Malfoy would keep up his end of things. She didn't even know the entire plan yet.

"Before this goes too far...why are you doing this?" she finally asked, raising her eyes to meet his. She saw them harden before he looked away, at a tapestry hanging on the stone wall. He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously.

"That's for me to know," he answered distantly.

"And me to find out?"

"No."

"Fine. Give me the floo powder."

0000

Harry jolted out of his sleep when he heard a voice coming from somewhere around the trench, seeming to echo. He bolted up into a sitting position and grabbed a rock to toss at Ron to wake him up. The red-head let out a mumbled "oof" when the rock made contact before he sat up and rubbed the spot on his chest where it had made contact. Harry put a finger to his lips to tell Ron to stay quiet as his eyes scanned the surrounding area.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry," Hermione said, exasperated. "Look at the bloody fire."

Ron and Harry both did a double-take as they saw Hermione's face in the dying embers of the fire. "Hermione?" they said in unison, confused. The two scrambled over to kneel by the fire.

"You just talked to us last night, 'Mione," Ron said, probably the more confused of the two teenage boys. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"That wasn't me, and I'm kind of offended that you would fall for a trick like that," Hermione stated. "But that's beside the point. The point is, Malfoy drank a polyjuice potion to look like me and trick you two into coming to save me. But apparently he has a plan that undoes Voldemort's, so he's allowing me to floo you two from his quarters to tell you to hatch some sort of scheme to invade the castle with him. He won't tell me why he's doing this, only that he's doing it to save both of your lives."

"If he drank polyjuice potion once, how do we know he isn't doing it again?" Harry asked logically.

"You don't. There isn't anything I can say to make you trust me, because you'll just think they got the information out of me using Veritaserum," Hermione replied, looking sad. Harry and Ron exchanged glances over the fire, each trying to decide what to believe. "But, I could have Malfoy talk to you through the floo, if that would make you feel better about this."

"Yes, do that," Ron said. Hermione's face disappeared and was quickly replaced with the features that had gained the Malfoys such great recognition.

"Hullo Potter," Malfoy said. "Weasley."

"Malfoy," they replied, again in unison. Malfoy's face disappeared and was replaced with Hermione's.

"Better?" she asked. The boys nodded. "Well, Malfoy says that he's going to be getting in touch with the two of you to work out a plan. But he also says that you have to continue making your way to Hogwarts as if you don't know anything about Voldemort's plans. He'll floo you when he's able to talk about working things out."

"Alright, Hermione. I hope you're doing alright," Harry said, concerned for her more than he had ever been. For the first time since the start of the conversation, he took in her appearance. Her cheeks were hollow and her lips were tight. But her eyes were still bright, shining with knowledge. She nodded that she was fine, though her face said otherwise. "Tell Malfoy to make sure that you're at least taken care of."

"Voldemort already makes sure he does that. He wants me alive long enough to get information out of me," she replied. "He's been torturing me everyday since my capture, but I haven't told him anything of great importance. He's only used Veriitaserum on me once, and I'm sure that was to get the right information out of me to trick you two last night. I'm making out alright. You needn't worry about me."

"Hermione, you're Voldemort's captive," Ron said. Hermione gave him a look, thanking him for stating the obvious. "Of course we need to worry about you. Anyways, if Malfoy is 'helping' you, then why can't he just sneak you out of there himself?"

"He can't break cover. And if he came with me, Voldemort could trace him using the Dark Mark. It would be too risky," Hermione said, her eyes shifting to the left quickly before returning to her friends. She was making this up as she went along because she really didn't know why Malfoy didn't just do that. She hadn't asked him that. She had just gone along with his plan before thinking of other routes of escape. "But if he were to sneak me out of here, you would lose your shot at Voldemort. And we need that shot."

Ron looked at Harry, silently agreeing with Hermione. Harry nodded as well before he replied. "Okay, Hermione. We'll stay in touch with Malfoy about this. We're going to start the journey there today, though. So we'll just agree to have a floo session with him every night around 9 o'clock?"

Hermione turned her head to the right, looking at something outside the visibility of the floo fire, presumably Malfoy, before turning back and nodding. "That should work out fine. He'll call you, not the other way around. And if he doesn't call you, that means that something kept him from it that night. Be careful, you two. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you." Her eyes glazed over with tears that she quickly blinked away.

"We will, 'Mione," Harry said quietly, wanting to climb through the fire and hug her close to reassure her and comfort her somehow. He could sense that Ron wanted to do the same by the way he was holding onto his pants with a death grip, as if to hold himself in check. "We miss you something awful," he continued, speaking the words he knew Ron wanted to say.

"I miss you guys, too," Hermione said, her voice cracking with emotion. "But I have to go. I've been in Malfoy's quarters for too long. Voldemort will start to get suspicious if this 'questioning' takes too long. I love you both, and I hope to see you soon. Safe and sound."

With that, Hermione's face vanished and Harry and Ron were left with only each other. They looked at one another, sadness welling up in their eyes. Harry sighed and broke the gaze to look up at the stars.

"It's still late, Ron," he said without looking back at his friend. "We need to get as much rest as we can for tomorrow. It's looking like it's going to be a long day."

Ron nodded his agreement, as he always did when Harry suggested something these days, and crawled back into his sleeping bag. He quickly fell asleep to a nightmare where Hermione and Harry got married after the defeat of Voldemort.

0000

"Granger," Malfoy said when Hermione sat back on her heels in front of his small fireplace. She didn't look at him, but he took it as enough of a go-ahead to continue. "I told Voldemort that I was interrogating you. I need some bit of information to give him to say that I got out of you."

"Can't you just tell him that I refused to speak?" she asked, confused.

"Well, if I'm supposed to give him reason to allow me to continue interrogating you in private, I have to get some results."

"You still haven't told me why you're doing this," she shot back, finally looking up at him.

"And I don't intend to."

His grey eyes locked on her brown eyes, each fighting for the upper hand. Both were stubborn and refused to yield because of an old school-time rivalry: the first to give in would be seen as weak or as the lesser of the two. Hermione hated to admit it to herself, but she had no choice but to give in. He had the upper hand in this argument, but she didn't intend to give up easily. It wasn't in her. But she knew that he understood that she would bend first. It was only a matter of time, and he had lots of that. She did not.

"Fine, Malfoy."

"Well?" Malfoy prodded.

"Tell him that Ron's biggest weakness is his temper. That if you get him mad or frustrated enough, he won't be able to perform spells correctly and they'll backfire on him instead. And the easiest way to do that is to insult his sister, Ginny," Hermione finally said with a sigh, disappointed in herself and in her betrayal of her best friend.

Malfoy looked relieved. "Thank you, Granger. Voldemort will be quite pleased."

She turned away in disgust, mostly with herself. The confusion she felt concerning Malfoy's decision to help her and her friends was monumental. She wanted to know _why _he wanted to help Harry and Ron. She wanted to know _when_ the change had occurred. When and why had Draco Malfoy become a traitor? It just didn't add up. The way he had been raised pointed him towards supporting Voldemort blindly, asking no questions and thinking what Voldemort wanted him to think. There had been no doubt in anyone's mind throughout the six years he had been in school that he would go on to be the best Death Eater he could be. Even if he hadn't been able to find it in himself to kill Dumbledore, Voldemort had quickly fixed that problem through some kind of torture, Hermione was sure.

And then there was the letter his mother had sent him. It was dated recently, right after the end of the battle at Hogwarts. "_And remember, though you may disagree with what you're doing, you're still on the side that won. The side that will live._" Hermione didn't understand how Narcissa Malfoy could contradict her husband. Granted, the man was slowly losing all of his memory and undoubtedly couldn't exercise nearly as much control over his wife as he had in the past. But did Narcissa really disagree with her husband? Had she and her son been against Voldemort's ideas from the beginning? Had they been forced to pretend to agree? Hermione could see that being the case with Narcissa, but Malfoy had never exhibited any behavior to suggest that he didn't agree with what his father and Voldemort did wholeheartedly.

Why was he helping them, then? There was no reason for him to have changed his mind so quickly. Merely two months ago, he had killed his own classmates for Voldemort. What could have changed for him in the last two months? He should have been elated to be on this side of the war. Voldemort was in complete control of England now, and soon he would be controlling all of Europe as well. Malfoy was his right-hand-man, trusted explicitly to do things that Voldemort would normally do himself. Hermione's brain could not come to a conclusion that would satisfy her need for a reason why he had changed.

"Malfoy..." Hermione started.

"Don't ask, Granger," Malfoy said, cutting her off. "You don't need to understand when, how, or why things are the way that they are. You only have to understand that I'm here to help you and Potter and Weasley remove him from the world and reinstate order. Just accept that you're not going to know everything this time."

She nodded her understanding and held out her arm to him. "Escort me back to the dungeons, ferret-face?" she asked, attempting to slide back into their normal conversation of insults. He gripped her upper arm with a chuckle.

"Of course, Granger."

As they made their way down to the dungeons, Hermione remained quiet. She was trying to put her thoughts in order to give her a better chance of understanding the man walking with her. But no matter how she thought it through, she couldn't find a reason that was plausible enough to explain his change of heart in the past months. Granted, she hardly knew the man he had become after the war. Conversations once a day can only give a person so much insight into someone's brain. But she had known Malfoy for six years. She had hated him for her whole life and found it hard to convince herself that she may have been wrong about him.

_No, I wasn't wrong about him,_ Hermione rationalized to herself. _I was correct about him during school. He was a foul, evil git. But after the battle here at Hogwarts, my perception of him didn't change. And he _did_ change. That's why I can't figure this out. He's not the boy I knew during classes. _

Malfoy had told Narcissa how he had changed, and she approved; she agreed with him. Hermione could only assume that Narcissa was the only one who knew about this change in Malfoy, aside from herself, Harry, and Ron now. It made sense that Malfoy would keep it on a need-to-know basis, but the more Hermione thought about the night's happenings, the more confused she became. Everything wasn't making sense, and, for a bookworm like Hermione Granger, that wasn't okay with her.

Chills crawled up Hermione's spine as they finally reached the dungeons and her thoughts were interrupted by the sliding of her cell-door. She stepped in quietly before turning to look at Malfoy.

"Granger, I know what you're going to ask," he said, sighing. "And I'll tell you again: I'm not explaining this to you."

She turned her nose up at his presumption. "I know that. I was going to ask the time, if you don't mind," she said snootily, looking down her nose at him. He shook his head and pulled out his wand to spell the time into the air in front of her cell.

"12:16 A.M."

"Thank you, Malfoy," she replied, settled back into her cell. He nodded and turned on his heel to leave, but couldn't help but feel that she was thanking him for a whole lot more than just telling her the time.

**Author's Note:** I've been updating a whole lot more than I initially planned on updating. It's not that its' a bad thing, it's just that it's weird. But no big deal, I'll probably chill out with the updates in the next week or so. Hope you've liked it so far. :)


	4. Surprise

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for three Manchester United jerseys.

**Four. Surprise.**

Hermione sat on the floor of her cell and leaned against the wall opposite the door, thinking things through and trying to make sense of it all. As smart as she was, she couldn't wrap her mind around what was going on in the castle now.

Draco Malfoy had always been the stereotypical Death Eater prodigy. He hated Hermione, Harry, and Ron and all other students who openly opposed Voldemort's activities; he was in Slytherin; his father was the right-hand-man to Voldemort himself; he came from a pureblood family that had a long history of disliking muggleborns; and he terrorized anyone he deemed "below him" in status or worth. The idea that Malfoy could possibly have changed - or even not believed in what he preached from the get-go - was mind-boggling. The only person in his regular life that could have planted the idea that Voldemort was wrong was Malfoy's mother, Narcissa.

Hermione refused to believe that Narcissa Malfoy had a good bone in her body. Every time Hermione had seen her in public, Narcissa had looked down at her, belittling Hermione with nothing but her eyes and cold demeanor. Narcissa Malfoy could not oppose Voldemort; it was impossible.

_And remember, though you may disagree with what you're doing, you're still on the side that won. The side that will live._

The words ran through Hermione's head as she tried to shake off the thought that Narcissa was one of the good guys. That would explain why she pretended to agree with Voldemort's practices: she wanted to make sure her family survived. Keeping one's family safe would be paramount to this woman since she had only one child to carry on the Malfoy name. Hermione could see both sides of things, but she still didn't see how that had translated into Draco's beliefs. He was a young man who had grown up under the close guidance and teachings of Lucius Malfoy and, in turn, Voldemort. If anything, his beliefs should be those of the two men in his life. Hermione had almost never heard Malfoy mention his mother, and if he shared her views then one would expect a little bit of his mother to show through him.

The fact that he refused to explain himself kind of unnerved her. If he really wanted her to trust him to help her, then she deserved an explanation of his reasons. There was also the fact that he had gotten her to tell him Ron's biggest weakness so he could tell Voldemort. How did Hermione know that he wasn't pretending to disagree with Voldemort just so he could access the information more easily and use it against the two boys upon their arrival at Hogwarts? She didn't, and that inspired a resolve within Hermione not to tell Malfoy a single thing more about Harry and Ron. She would not give him the help he was asking her for.

That in mind, Hermione fell into a fitful sleep, full of battles, confusion, and one blond man killing Voldemort.

0000

Ron woke before Harry the morning after their conversation with Hermione. He sat up in his sleeping roll and looked at the boy across the fire from him. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the leader of The Golden Trio. They'd been best friends for six years and some months, since the day they had met each other. It was hard to believe that in that period of time, so many things had happened. So many feelings had been formed between them and Hermione. Harry loved Hermione, just like Ron did. Harry saw Ron as a brother, just as Ron saw Harry as a brother. Hermione loved both of them, but was she _in love_ with one of them and not the other? Or did she see them as her brothers and best friends?

Ron was brought from his thoughts when Harry began to move around in his sleeping roll, waking up. Ron quickly got up and started making breakfast for the two of them. Harry lifted his head from his small pillow, smiling gratefully at Ron as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his hair out of his face. It immediately fell back to where it had been in the first place, and Harry didn't even attempt a second time, knowing it was futile. Ron looked down at the eggs he was cooking through the fringe of his red hair. His blue eyes watered when some of the smoke got into them, but he quickly rubbed them to clear the sensation.

"What time do you think it is?" Harry asked, sitting up completely.

"Probably around six o'clock," Ron said, looking over at the horizon and the sun that was beginning to peek over the hills. "We can probably be on the road by seven if we eat and pack up at the same time."

"Yeah, sounds good," Harry said, crawling out of his roll. "You keep cooking. I'll start packing our things up."

The next fifteen minutes passed silently as Ron cooked and Harry worked on packing their rolls and other necessities. When Ron turned around, he found their camp site completely empty, clean and ready to be left. He chuckled. Harry had worked pretty quickly. Their two packs sat waiting for them at the edge of the area they had been occupied. Ron handed Harry his breakfast of scrambled eggs. The night before, they had taken half a dozen eggs from a nearby farmer's hen house to use for breakfast, and Ron could only hope that they had been good eggs because he was scarfing them down.

"Shall we?" Harry said when they both finished eating their eggs. Ron nodded and stood with Harry. They took out their wands, pointing them at the large packs at the edge of the camp.

In unison, both said, "_Reducio!_" and the bags instantly shrank to a much more manageable size. Both boys picked their bags up, looked at one another, and began the long walk to Hogwarts.

0000

Draco woke with a start as a shaft of light cut across his face. He frowned, angry for the fifty-eighth time that there was a window on the east side of his room that faced perfectly to his bed that it would wake him up every morning. He sat up and stretched, running a hand through his pale hair that was messy with bed-head. He looked at his wand on his bedside table and sighed at the time: 6:30 A.M. He crawled out from under his silk covers and stumbled into the bathroom, knocking over a cup on the counter. As graceful as Draco was in public, he was just like every other person in the world when he first woke up.

He turned the water in his shower on and looked at himself blearily in the mirror as he waited for it to heat up. When steam began to float through the room, he stripped down and stepped into the stream of water. He was instantly completely awake as the water ran over every inch of his body, waking his senses up with the heat. He sucked in a deep breath as his body adjusted to the heat and reached for the shampoo to begin his daily routine.

Twenty minutes later, Draco stepped out of the shower feeling rejuvenated and ready for a day full of death and despair. He wondered whether Voldemort would bring Granger in for questioning today and almost hoped that he did so that he could question her by himself again. The more often he could do that, the more she would trust him, and the more he could open up to her about his reasons for doing the things he had done and was still doing. And once Voldemort realized that Draco was the only person she would give information to, he would give Draco permission to interrogate her privately at his leisure. And they could plan Harry and Ron's invasion of the castle.

That would be tricky, though. Draco didn't doubt that there would need to be a lot of planning in order for the invasion to work. Draco knew they had to do this carefully, and that if one thing was to go wrong they would be royally screwed. But it was a chance he was willing to take, merely because it was something he felt strongly about. More strongly than he felt about his disgust at being forced to marry Pansy Parkinson (which was a large feat; he planned on ending the engagement the moment Voldemort was killed, though). Should they fail in this endeavor... He didn't even want to imagine the fate that would await himself, Granger, Potter, and Weasley. It probably involved days and days of torture followed by an even worse, slow and painful death. And Voldemort would rule without opposition. Once The Golden Trio died, the resistance of the rest of the wizard world would crumble and Voldemort would face no opposition in everything he did.

Draco shook his head as he shrugged on his dark Death Eater robes before he walked out the door of his room. He couldn't think about the negatives if he wanted to get through the next few months without blowing his cover. Should he lose the element of surprise, he would also lose the chance to make his mark and undo all the bad things he had done in the past. There was no way that he would let Voldemort continue his tyrannical rule. It was not something that anyone in their right mind would support.

As he made his way down to the Great Hall, he passed a few of his fellow Death Eaters. Evan Rosier, Caitlin Conway, Alecto Carrow, Jessica Knowles. All names and faces that he recognized but cared little about. They were the exact mindless drones that he detested. Sometimes he felt like he and Voldemort were the only ones in the castle with a brain of their own, aside from Hermione and Neville (although Neville barely counted anymore since he had gone mad after a few weeks of torture).

Arriving at the Great Hall, Draco stepped through the doors and glanced around. The tables were overflowing with black, stifling any creativity and making the atmosphere feel quite militaristic. Voldemort was seating at his seat in the middle of what used to be the teachers' table, the seat to his right empty and waiting for Draco. He took a deep breath before he walked up the aisle and around to his seat next to Voldemort.

"How was interrogating the mudblood last night?" Voldemort asked suggestively, hinting that Draco may have gotten more than just answers. Implying that Draco would have _raped_ the woman in his quarters. Draco fought to keep his face neutral as his gut churned at the mere thought of doing something like that to Granger, not because she was muggleborn but because it was just _wrong_.

"She gave me a piece of information on Weasley," Draco replied, ignoring the suggestion in Voldemort's voice entirely as he took a bite of the food that appeared in front of him. "She says that he's got quite the temper and if you trigger it correctly, his spells will backfire. Insulting his little sister apparently works best."

"Very good, Draco," Voldemort said, praising his protege. "You're shaping up to be of even more use than your father was."

Draco's fist clenched at the mention of his father. He grit his teeth together, determined not to let Voldemort see his words cause some kind of reaction. But in his mind, he was ranting. _It's not his fault that you ruined him. That you drove him mad to the point where he can't even function anymore. _You_ tortured him till he could hardly remember how to speak English that a three-year-old can speak. It's _your_ fault that he's of no use to you anymore._

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco said instead, praying that someday he would be able to speak his mind to the sad excuse for a man that was sitting next to him. That he would be able to spit in his face and walk away with his head held high, knowing that he had avenged his father's debilitation and righted the wrongs he had done in the past. If Draco was being honest with himself, he had never really agreed with what he had been doing, even in his six years of schooling. He had always felt bad about it, but had done it because his father told him that was how a Malfoy acted. Narcissa had always disapproved, and told Draco as much, but had never contradicted her husband. She only ever told Draco that someday he would be able to redeem himself and voice his true beliefs, but that if he didn't do as Lucius said, he would not reach that day.

Draco had been working to that end since he started school. He made his father proud by getting good grades and upholding the Malfoy name. But it always felt off somehow. It never made sense to him, why muggleborns were considered such bad people. How their blood was supposedly _muddy._ He had seen the blood of Hermione on more than one occasion during her torture. It had been ruby red, the same color as the blood that ran through the veins of purebloods and the same color as the blood that ran through the veins of Voldemort himself.

"You're quite welcome," Voldemort said, then seemed to stop for a moment and think. "You know, I haven't ever been able to get that type of information out of her. From now on, you're interrogating her."

"My Lord?" Draco said, surprised and somewhat confused. Voldemort was offering to let him do the interrogations from now on.

"I want to have you question her from now on. Your methods obviously worked."

Draco took a moment to think then asked, "Where would you like me to interrogate her? Here? My quarters? Elsewhere?"

"You may interrogate her wherever you see fit."

"I'd like to interrogate her in my quarters. She seemed more comfortable with talking in there for some reason."

Voldemort nodded and stood from the table. He walked away without another word and Draco mentally fist pumped at his good luck. If this was the way things were going to work out with his plan, Harry and Ron had nothing to worry about. Things were falling into place much better than he could have ever imagined them. Now all he had to do was actually formulate a plan, which he could do with Granger's help.

Draco quickly ate the rest of his breakfast before he scraped his chair back from the table. He stalked out of the Great Hall and down to the dungeons, where he found Hermione sleeping peacefully. He hesitated before waking her, wondering if he should give her her rest. He shook the thought from his mind. This was more important than that. He clapped his hands loudly, creating an echoing gun-shot-like sound. He stifled a snicker as Hermione jolted awake, suddenly sitting up straight and looking around herself fearfully. He crossed his arms and waited for her brown eyes to settle on him.

When they did, they narrowed as she ran a hand through her hair, which was cascading in crazy curls around her shoulders. The dark tresses would have been pretty in any other setting than a dungeon, but it was hard for something to look good in the horrible lighting.

"Good morning, mudblood," Draco said, kicking himself for using that name. But he had to keep up appearances so that Neville wouldn't know anything had changed. He hoped she could see the apology in his grey eyes. If she did, she didn't show it.

"Draco," she murmured as she looked at him through the bars as she sat on the small cot she was provided.

"Get up. Time for questions," Draco barked out and watched as she climbed slowly to her feet.

"Oh, it's a dream come true!" she deadpanned, walking forward to the cell door. Draco unlocked it and let her out, taking a firm grip on her arm as he did so. She rolled her eyes at him and walked with him towards the exit. As they passed Neville's cell, Hermione stopped short. Draco stopped as well and turned to look at what she had seen. A moment later, Hermione's body crumpled in a faint. Draco barely reacted in time to catch her before she hit the ground. Standing there with the limp girl in his arms, Draco realized what Hermione had after a few moments of inspection.

Neville Longbottom was dead.


End file.
